I Missed You
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: Hell had been unleashed on Earth and Christophe has the choice to stop it. Will he take the chance or will his love for the person Damien used to be stop him? Chramien M for blood and vitamin C!


This be fer mah frund Brianna cuz s'er birthday.

* * *

Christophe watched sadly from the tower window as Damien's minions wreaked their havoc on the terrified population. No one wanted this, but they had no idea how to stop it. Christophe was just as powerless as they were, trapped in his tower to cater to Damien's sexual whims. That's what their relationship had devolved to.

There was a time before when there had been real love there. And not just his; Damien had felt it to, he was sure.

It used to be good, fun…now it was hell on Earth, quite literally. But there had been a time once…

* * *

"_Do you think it will still be like this when I start my reign? Us, I mean." Damien asked, looking up from where his head was cradled in the Frenchman's lap._

_Christophe didn't answer for a long time, his eyes scanning the horizon as the sun set. When he finally did answer, it was so quiet that Damien only caught it because he had been listening for it._

"_No…I do not zeenk eet weel."_

_Damien stared up at him then, shocked and slightly horrified. He tried to meet Christophe's eyes, trying to discern what he meant. But the man's head was bowed, his hair and the shadows cast by the fading light throwing darkness over the haggard lines of his face._

_Damien turned away, sadness washing over him. Maybe Christophe had meant it harmlessly, that it would change for the better. But he had said it now and there was no taking it back. _

_He turned back to Christophe with a sad smile, leaning up on his elbows and pressing his lips to the other man's. All they could do was try and make the best out of what they had now._

* * *

Christophe had been right, nothing was the same after Damien had taken the earth and started the apocalypse. The innocents were all gone and those who had survived this hell as long as it had been were the worst of the bunch. Murderers, thieves, assassins. People like him.

The irony of it was that the only way to stop it all was for someone to willingly spill their blood on the Anti-Christ's throne. Those who were willing to do it had either ascended to heaven at the beginning or were now dead. The rest were selfish, mean-spirited crooks who would rather the chaos continue.

Christophe wished he could take all of it back, especially his own role in helping Damien reach his goals. He had deliberately aided the Anti-Christ out of love, and look where it had gotten him. He was nothing more than a sex slave now, and Damien was coming to him less and less. And when he was there it wasn't like it used to be. The love was gone, the spark had died.

* * *

_Damien cupped his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair, smiling softly up at him as he spread his legs. He blushed and looked down as Christophe smirked at him. "Dude, don't do that! You make me feel like a piece of meat!" He scolded._

"_Een a good way, I 'ope." Christophe had replied, still smirking. "Because eet ees true zat I want to eat you up."_

_Damien had glared weakly at the man above him, pouting. Christophe kissed the pout away as he began moving, thrusting long and slow into his lover as the pout receded into an 'o' of pleasure as Damien began to pant and moan._

"_Fuck, Chris! Harder!" He growled, bucking onto him eagerly as the Frenchman sped up his thrusts, catching Damien's prostate and smirking as Damien arched and cried out. He slammed into that spot repeatedly, nipping and sucking at his neck._

"_Yes! Oh fuck yes!" He panted breathlessly, struggling to take in a breath deeper than a pleasured gasp. When Christophe's calloused hand encircled his shaft and began pumping he lost it completely, moaning and bucking whorishly as he came closer and closer to his climax._

"_Beg for eet, beetch." He growled, grabbing Damien's hips so hard he left crescent shaped nail marks where his fingertips were. _

"_Please, baby, harder…f-faster." He whimpered, not caring that he wouldn't beg for anything in any other situation. But he _needed_ this. Needed Christophe like he needed air or food or water._

_He let out a cry of delight as Christophe complied, releasing himself between them and all over Christophe's tanned hand. He trembled as the aftershocks of orgasm washed over him, the feeling of Christophe cumming inside of him making him feel warm and pleasantly filled._

_Christophe pulled out and rolled over onto his back, lighting up a cigarette. He crooked one arm under his head and used the other to bring the cig to his mouth for every drag. Damien sighed contentedly as he curled around him and cuddled into his chest and side, the smoke wafting around them like their post-coital haze._

_Damien looked up at his lover and smiled, fangs poking out from under his lip in a way Christophe secretly deemed cute. "Love ya, bastard." _

"_Love you too, beetch." He replied with a grin._

* * *

But that was over now. Damien had changed. He was a cruel, hard-hearted man now and barely even had time to use Christophe's body for his sick, twisted fantasies. There had been a time when Christophe would have gladly let his lover do anything he wanted at least once if he asked. But the King of Hell on Earth didn't ask for anything. He took it, ruthlessly.

Christophe's ears perked up a bit as the sound of the door opening reached them. He reached for the shard of stone he had managed to chip off of the tower's windowsill, his only weapon, and palmed it. He acted casual, as if he hadn't heard anything, until his would be attacker was right behind him. The he whirled around and pressed the shard to the demon's throat.

"S-sorry to disturb you, sir. T-the master would like to see you in the throne room." He gulped, holding his hand up to show he was unarmed and not dangerous. Christophe had learned a long time ago that Damien's minions were never unarmed and never to be trusted.

"I can find my own way, now leave." He growled, not startled that the frightened creature obeyed. As soon as it left he got up from the chair he had been sitting in and crossed to the closet to grab fresh clothes. He pulled on his standard army green wife beater and cargo pants, not having his ammo belt or shovel to add on, and crossed to the door. For once it was unlocked and he strode through it purposefully.

At the top of the stairs he paused, turning on his heel and going back into the room. He grabbed the shard of rock and put it in his pocket. He wasn't sure why, but it just felt the right thing to do, probably years of experience as a mercenary.

He descended the stairs, striding into the throne room with sure steps and an air of pride that was only skin deep. He had been broken a long time ago, but he never let anyone see it. It was too painful to let others see his despair.

"Oh, there you are Mole." Damien said, bored. He was flicking through some magazine, obviously not really paying attention to what was in it.

"Yes, you needed me, Damien?" He asked, sounding equally as bored. This seemed to spark something in Damien. His face creased in anger and his lips curled into a snarl, the fangs that Christophe had once found endearing exposed fully.

"Yes! I demand you come and service me!" He growled. That had not been his original plan, but Christophe just had to ruin his attempts at rekindling the romance, didn't he? Now he would have to be humiliated in front of everyone present. "Suck me off, bitch." He demanded in a cold, hard voice.

Christophe panicked inwardly. What had he done, thinking he could get away with that? It was madness! But, then again, Christophe was just a little bit mad. Then an idea formed in his head and he smirked seductively.

"Mais oui, mon amour. Whatever you weesh." He purred, voice low and sultry. He sauntered over to the throne and kneeled before the dark-haired man. He smirked up at him and slipped a hand discreetly into his pocket. He had no chance of killing Damien with it, but he didn't intend to let him get the better of him. Not this Damien, not like this.

"Goodbye, Damien. I've meesed you." He whispered so that only the son of Satan could hear, plunging the stone shard into his jugular and falling forward as blood gushed from his neck, the light of life fading from his eyes.

In that moment Damien realized his mistake. He had taken something good, probably the only good thing he'd had in life, and pushed it until it was nothing but hurt and anger and the will to die. He had pushed Chris to this, the final sacrifice. Because he held no delusions that Christophe had done this for the greater good. He hated God almost as much as Damien did. He had done it because it was the only way out, the only way to save Damien and himself from an eternity of resentment and hate where once there was love.

It was fitting, really, that his undoing was at the hands of the person he cherished most. As Christophe's blood, spilled willingly and by the hand of it's owner, seeped into the throne he leaned his head back and succumbed to the sweet kiss of death in the form of God's holy lightening bolt.

* * *

Christophe waited at the gates of Hell, refusing against all pleads and protests to come in until he was certain whether or not Damien would be following. After what seemed like eternity there was a bright flash of light and he was there, smiling just like he used to in the before time.

He ran towards Christophe, red eyes alight and face breaking out into a broad grin as the Frenchman opened his arms for him. Damien flung himself at his lover and they embraced like they hadn't in years.

When they finally pulled back enough to look each other in the eyes they laughed, finding they were both weeping like little titty babies.

"I missed you too." Damien whispered, and everything was alright.

* * *

Love it, hate it, think it was mediocre?


End file.
